Someone Like You
by Quill Scribblings
Summary: The Royal Heir to the Throne. The slave-boy, sleeping in the kitchens. Both trapped, both ill-fated, and both desperately craving something they've never recieved their whole lives. The Royal Ball is soon approaching, and who knows? Maybe something can change. Wolfstar.
1. Once Upon A Time

**Disclamimer: **If this were mine, the Harry Potter's would have been terribly fluffy, and Id have pretended that the Wizarding World was real. However, I am not JK Rowling, and I won't pretend to be so otherwise.

**A/N: **Please don't beat me up if you find something really significant in this story – you'll know it when you read it.

**Chapter One**

_I should really find a better place for this._

A dark-haired boy, bordering on the very edges of manhood, sat on a black velvet chair, leaning over an ebony writing desk, scribbling furiously in an indigo, leather-bound notebook. The pages were thick and creamy, practically screaming luscious wealth, and the fountain pen that he wrote with had a gold nib.

_I'm positive the crazy old hag reads this, or maybe The Cretin reads this and tells her, but I don't really care. She's not going to get a single thing out of me, not anything. Oh, they all think they're so sneaky, and witty, and wonderful, but they're as dry as a fucking desert, as colourless as this hole (commonly known as the Black Palace, rather suiting, don't you think?) and as obvious as hell. When the bitch just sat me down and told me it was high time I wed a suitable female who was fertile and would produce another perfect offspring for the sodding pure bloodline, I told her to get stuffed. Or something along those lines that was a bit more polite._

Sirius let out a growl of frustration, and glanced towards the side-door on the far end of the room to check if The Cretin, or Adams the butler, as he was supposed to be addressed to, had heard him. Kreacher Adams was always was poking his nose about the place, trying to find something to spill to his precious Mistress, and Sirius only thanked God that he had locks on his doors, and that The Cretin was hard of hearing (when he chose to be). However, all chances of sneaking someone in for a secret rendezvous (fat chance) or running away in the dead of night were destroyed. Sirius put his hands behind his head, leant back on his chair and let out a silent puff of air through his nostrils. Why was everything in his life simply fucked?

He recalled earlier on in the day, when his evil mother smiled sickeningly over her petit fours and orange tea, and told him that he would soon turn seventeen, which was the appropriate time to marry, and so he should consider doing so.

_At least my old man had the good grace to die ages ago, _he wrote decisively,_ even though he left me my life ruined, he finally escaped the madness that comes in the form of my mother. And the rest of the Black family._ It made Sirius want to vomit thinking about the fact that his parents were both Blacks, second cousins. _At least society would frown severely on the fact if she tried- _he scored the last line out. He would not be getting married to any of his cousins. No way. Sirius shuddered, and then realised that they were all married off anyway. What a relief.

"_You will be getting married. It is your duty to ensure that the Black family name does not replenish, _do you understand me_? And you will not fail nor shame this family in any way doing so."_

"_What if I don't find someone I want to marry?" Something deadly and cold stunned the air. "What if they're all…unsuitable?" he tried to repent._

_Sirius knew it had been a very weak argument and Walburga Black undoubtedly thought so too. Her thin lips curled into a sinister grimace at his pathetic attempt, one of her rare expressions reserved for his cousins, or other rich, stuck-up snobs such as herself._

"_Oh, but you will."_

_She stood up and drew herself to her full height. She wore a long black dress, the fabric heavy and ugly. Many say she wore black because she was still in mourning for her late husband, but Sirius knew for a fact it was her favourite colour. Not to mention the colour of her soul, Sirius often countered to people who disagreed with him. She didn't have enough heart in her to miss Orion Black; and only thought of him when it came to issues like money._

_She walked up to him, indicating with her hand at Cretin, who came forward with a piece of paper with the Black family Crest on it. He handed it to her with a very low bow, and she let it flutter lazily from her fingertips, so Sirius had to catch it in order to read it._

"_As you see, invitations are being sent out this very moment to every single household in this district…" Sirius withered a little inside._

"…_To attend the Royal Ball in honour of your coming of age birthday."_

_Sirius scanned the invitation, and his heart plunged to the bottom of his stomach, leaving an aching gap in its absence. _

_**~The Royal Family of Black~**_

_**Request the esteemed pleasure of your presence**_

_**In celebration of the Seventeenth Year**_

_**Of His Royal Highness Sirius Orion Black III**_

_**June 18**_

_**R.S.V.P**_

_Sirius cringed. Images of hundreds of girls of all ages ripping open the invitation with greedy lust and pining, unrequited love in their eyes swamped him, and he suddenly felt panicked. What on earth did all these women expect? For him to meet his true-love-at-first-sight? His mother thought otherwise. Her concerns lay more in the direction of who he would select. The prettiest? The richest? The most talented?_

_Sirius grew still. The thought of so many silk-clad, perfumed carbon copies of each other made him feel faint. He was going to have a lot of work to do._

_Walburga lifted her chin in triumph. Sirius matched her gaze with his, identical sets of grey eyes staring at each other, and found a dawning sense of dread settle in his gut. He had to cut this one at the bud, before they found out all on their own. Time was really running out for Sirius._

"_I'm not ready to do this." His voice was steady yet gave only the slightest of quivers at the start. Walburga narrowed her eyes._

_Shit._

_She leaned forward, almost placing her forehead against his. Sirius fought the urge to pull away, as she breathed through flared nostrils over him, their breaths intermingling. He felt sick._

"_Yes. You. Are." _

_Sirius could not capture the vile tone of how she said that in any form of words or descriptions. He felt disgusted with himself for letting her control him like this. Stop it! Get away from her!_

_He was frozen in his seat._

_Finally, _finally, _she straightened up and glided away without so much as a word or glance at either him nor Cretin. A shudder finally ran up Sirius' spine. He got up and ran to his room, taking the servants' stairs as a shortcut. _

_He did not cry._

They were called tears of frustration. And humiliation.

Sirius always thought of seventeen as being his ticket to freedom, his surest way to independence. Until he was about thirteen, when he attended the lavish wedding of his cousin and her stuffy fiancée, and eavesdropped on the conversations held above him (he was hiding underneath the table with Regulus). It was the he found out what being the Heir to the Royal Family actually meant, and it wasn't about running a country, oh no, it was about reputations, and society. Society, Sirius didn't give a crap about. The outside world never saw much of him unless he was in disguise (and even then he was fooling nobody). But, in the rich man's world, people didn't even need reasons to hire and set the most dangerous assassins on you. All you had to do was cause them to not like you. Like exist, for example.

Now, with his seventeenth 'year' (God, how embarrassing - why could they have not used the word 'birthday'?) looming ceremoniously within a few months time, Sirius was running out of time to bide by. He didn't know how to escape anymore. He had to, he knew he had to, but, for the first time, Sirius felt like throwing the towel in. He felt like raising his hands in the air and accepting whatever the hell the fates had in store for him. He lay down on his bed and closed his eyes, running his hands through his hair and tugging viciously at the ends,

"Go on then," he whispered. "Give me your best shot." _You bastards, _he added inside his head.

He lay on his side miserably, resting his head in the crook of his elbow. He knew there was no point in bothering trying to go to sleep. His mind was a bit too preoccupied for that at the moment.

Thank God he had James to go through this with. Brilliant James.

A minute later, he was sleeping away the dread and fatigue of today. Just today, and just for now.

**Thoughts?**


	2. Tranquil Mornings and Devastating News

Disclaimer: If I were JK Rowling, I would inform the world that I am actually a confidante of the Minister for Magic and that there were some misplaced Hogwarts letters in the Department of Magical and Muggle Cooperation. Patience, all.

A/N: So much thanks to all you lovelies who were kind enough to give words of encouragement :) This chapter should be a bit more…professional and not looking like it's been written in the wee hours of the morning.

**Chapter 2**

_**The tranquil morning after the devastating news,**_Something long and finger-like poked its pokey little way all over Sirius' face. His cheeks were prodded, his nostrils were occasionally being pressed together to cut off the passage of air into his lungs, and when that only prompted his mouth to fall open in attempt to breathe, his chin was taken between what felt like a finger and a thumb, and given an experimental wiggle.

He cracked one eyelid open a tiny fraction.

Something grinned and plopped down on the bed beside him. It ripped the bed sheets from underneath Sirius, who had fallen asleep without bothering to get under the covers, and made a nest out of the pillows to sit cross-legged in.

Sirius pulled a spare pillow over his head to block out the morning light wafting in gently through the open windows. "Shoes off the bed." He croaked.

Sirius could practically feel this something grin even wider, its disgusting cheerfulness pulsating like a flickering electric lamp that Sirius often found annoying and unnecessary. "Yes, mother," the something chirped, not bothering to remove its shoes, and instead purposefully grinding the soles of its feet into Sirius' exposed stomach. He yelped, muffled through the pillow.

"You should have been a candle," he told the allowing his mouth the air to inhale cleverly without eliminating the vital pillow.

"Indeed I should have. Now _darling_, don't you have to ask me something?" It said lecherously. Sirius lifted the pillow and winced at the light flooding in. James was leaning over a piece of parchment, fluttering his eyelashes disturbingly.

"Stop that." Sirius told him.

"Oh come now, _sweetheart, _surely you haven't forgotten about our agreement?" Sirius blinked. "…To take me to the _Royal_ _Ball_, of course!" James cried, waving the parchment frantically in front of Sirius face. He trilled the phrase 'royal ball' as if it were some sort of magic spell, providing there was a little fat lady in a pink dress with wings to accompany it. "Oh, this is going to be brilliant! You, your Royal bloody Highness, you have invited _Lady Evans_ to your birthday party!" _Evans! _Just think, she'll be there dressed in a fetching shade of emerald to enhance her _dazzling_ red hair,"

"James, please, don't," Sirius begged, dragging his gaze away from the item in James' hand to frown imploringly at James, who took no notice.

"And to match her _sparkling_ green eyes,"

Sirius clamped his hand over James' mouth.

"Shut up, just-! Shut up, okay? I don't – it's too early in the morning to be feeling suicidal, so just – shush, you."

Sirius let his hand fall and picked up the fallen bit of parchment. He studied it, while James bounced excitedly beside him with suppressed talk of what Lady Evans would wear in her hair, and whether she might see the error in her ways of forever declining him the chance to court her –

"James, we are not in a medieval fairytale storybook, we do not 'court' anymore, and you are thinking too loud."

James looked at him quizzically, shuffling over to Sirius to peer once again at the invitation. Sirius had a funny feeling he was imagining 'wooing' Lady Evans inside his head instead. "What is it?" he asked. Sirius, quite stupidly, thought for a moment that he was genuinely concerned. He allowed a pause to insert some severity into the conversation, hoping that James would pull himself together and stop thinking about his own sorry little behind for once.

"I'm in deep shit." He told him sincerely, each word pronounced _just so_, hoping to gain an attentive response. The green-eyed and red-haired cloud cleared a little in James' eyes, and he stared, concerned, at Sirius.

"What is it?" he asked again, quieter than last time. Sirius indicated to the invitation in his grasp, an aged, wry smile tugging morosely at the corners of his mouth.

"They want to marry me off," he murmured, glancing carefully towards the closed door in case of Cretin eavesdropping. "That's what this ball is _for_; don't you see? They don't care that it's my birthday, they just want to increase the size of the fortune and tie me down to this place _permanently_."

James' eyes widened, in realisation.

"I'm never going to get out of this, not even the way we planned. She'll find some way to make me … go through with this," he said, gesturing to the invitation. He still could not bring himself to say 'marry'. "And I have no idea what I'm going to do: I mean, it's in _June_, James! That's barely two months away, and she wants me to … _choose_. It's alright for you, you've got your sight set on Evans" –"_Lady_ Evans," James muttered stubbornly – "…but I don't! I'm not …_ ready_ for this: I'm only sixteen!"

He growled and yanked at his hair roughly. A hand grasped his wrist and pulled his arm away from his hair. Sirius felt tiny pinpricks spread all over his scalp in the abused area.

James patted his clenched hand and said "There there." Sirius felt annoyance rise in his throat, and opened his mouth to say "Don't_ patronise me, James_," but James had beaten him to it.

"Listen," he said gravely. Sirius tried opening his mouth to speak again. "No, listen! We're going to work our way around this, and we'll get through it, alright? You and me, we'll do it. We just need a plan, and then we'll get the hell out of here for a bit, riding off into the sunset, and all that. We can do this."

James was a best mate. His solid, dependableness was person-shaped like a force of moulded gravity: always keeping Sirius grounded. If it weren't for James, Sirius would have gone insane years ago. If it weren't for James, Sirius would not have any reason to be happy.

Sirius inhaled through his nostrils. "Yeah," he agreed.

A half-grin formed on James' face. "Yeah." said Sirius again: more decidedly. "We'll get out of this."

"_Through_ this..." James corrected him. "…You're going to take me to the ball to woo my one true love first."

It was when James was on the floor with a face full of swan feather-stuffed pillow that Sirius said: "You should write fairytales for_ little girls_, you great nonce, and if that doesn't 'woo' Evans, then I don't know what will."

And then: "'Woo'? _Honestly_ James."

"~*~"

_**Meanwhile, in a quaint little cottage on the edge of the Dark Forest overlooking the village,**_ there a thin, underfed boy sat beside an open slops barrel, with mounds of vegetables heaped around him and a vegetable peeler clattering to the ground. He was leaning over his right hand in pain and cursing violently.

A huge, black dog peered up at its master in concern who had stood up and stretched on tiptoe, rummaging in the cupboard above the heaps of dirty dishes with one hand. The other was stuck in his mouth.

The boy sighed, and wrapped a strip of linen around his index finger. Drops of blood plopped on the floor of the kitchen from his middle finger which was stuck precariously out. The black dog let out a whine, and padded over to the tiny puddle of blood, and lapped it up.

"Don' do daht," the boy scolded, tying the linen in place with the aid of his teeth. He set to work on the other finger, proceeding to tie a strip of linen around that as well, when one of the polished brass bells hanging aside the others on the wall let out an irritate low chime.

"Bhvugger." He said, between his teeth. He desperately hoped it wasn't … it was.

"Hello?" he inquired, with false politeness. He held the connector from the kitchen to the Master Suite to his ear, hoping fervently that whatever he had to do wouldn't take long. Ha. Long.

"It has failed to come to my attention that you do not possess the intelligence to function an iron, until I was _so kindly_ exposed to this fact." scathed a thick, nasally voice.

Remus held the brass cone-shaped funnel at arms reach to sigh as intensely as he could without being heard. He took a deep, calming breath, and said clearly, "My apologies. I'll come up and iron it straight away for you." _Whatever it is, _he added silently.

"No matter," the voice snapped. "I have another tunic. I only wasted my breath to inform you that you can forget about your meals for the rest of today." With that, the server at the other end was slammed against something metallic: probably the silver railings of the bedpost that was located beside the server in the Master's chambers. Padfoot whined and Remus stuck a finger in his ringing ear and proceeded to continue to peel the potatoes. He still had the carrots to do, and soon he'd have to start making the dressings for the salad and the meat. Padfoot pushed his sniffling nose into Remus' leg sympathetically, as if to say, I know how you feel. Remus fed him a slither of chicken, just in case he couldn't get round to feeding him later, which was entirely probable if he wasn't allowed time to eat either.

He was proven right.

_**The very first of the soon to no longer be illustrious guests**_ was Nott, who was disgruntled at being the only one in the fine company of the family of the Prince Household. Remus suspected Nott only favoured approaching this dreary and heavily disguised hole because he was rather drawn to their generous supply of _Finest Oak's Mead_. Remus almost felt sorry for the man; until he decided to point out the oddity of the library and how it was a room mismatched with the rest of the dark and gloomy décor of the House. No one was allowed to voice their opinion on the Library at all, in Remus' mind, as it was the only place that hadn't been tainted with the oh-so charming occupants of the upper floors. And plus, it was his room. The Master preferred his own collection of disturbing literature and boring fact-books, and Remus preferred not to know anything more of what those books actually contained.

The next were the Prewetts'; consisting of the Lord and Lady Prewett with their three grown-up children: Gideon and Fabien the twins, and their younger sister, Molly, none of which whom shared the same enthusiasm of the visit as their parents. Fabien and Gideon stood close together with their hands in their pockets, surveying their host with as much disdain as they would like instead of putting a laxative in his evening brandy. From where Remus could see through the cracks of the wooden panelling concealing his hiding place, Molly's face had brightened up considerably when the butler, Arthur Weasley, appeared to assist her brothers with the coats and hats. Fabien leant down and murmured something very low in Molly's ear, causing her blush a brilliant shade of cherry and swat, embarrassed, at Fabien. Remus noted with a vague interest that both Molly and Fabien's eyes followed Arthur's tall, gangly form as he walked away, carrying cloaks and hats. Remus' gaze flickered to Gideon every once in a while.

Finally, an automobile trundled up the gravel of the Prince House, and out stepped the Evans' sisters: Petunia, and, to Remus' delight, Lily.

The grin that stretched from ear to ear on Remus faltered only slightly when Lily hurried through the large doors, crying "Severus!"

"Cousin Lily," greeted Snape, with something resembling a fondness pushing its way through the intolerance and snobbery, embracing Lily briefly before she began inquiring about his health, and if his drinking habits were improving. "I see you are in good form. Have you met Lord and Lady Prewett?" he smiled oddly, as if it were something his face wasn't very used to doing. His pale hand contrasted sharply in a gothic manner in opposition to the diamond-shaped midnight-black sleeve, and indicated aristocratically behind him. The short, dark-haired Lord and the handsome, sleek Lady looked on the scene with an air of pretentious grace. Behind them, Molly smiled at Lily.

Lily and her sister were introduced to them all individually, and Remus found it bizarre that they all did these little curtseys and bows to one another. However, Molly shook Lily's hand with a warmness that her parents obviously disapproved of, if their pinched brows at her unladylike making the acquaintance of Lily were anything to go by. Gideon bowed and winked at her discreetly under the scrutiny of his mother and father. Remus ignored the little flip in stomach. Fabien lowered his torso courteously, reached out to Lily, and brushed his lips along the knuckles of her small hand. Lily's cheeks had a dusting of pink when he let go. Remus rolled his eyes when he tried to do the same to Petunia, who was having none of it, and snatched her hand away quickly in favour of smoothing down her pearl-blue dress.

Oh bugger. He did set out the blue-tinted china, didn't he? Oh bugger bugger bugger.

After dashing to the Dining room to check that the blue china had indeed been set out, Remus loped up the steep servants' stairs, two at a time, to reach the Guests' Quarters. It was dark, except for a few old-fashioned gas lamps here and there, but Remus knew the way well enough not to stumble (too often). Light welcomed him when he opened the small door at the end of the corridor, and crossed over the landing to the room with the door slightly adjacent.

Opening the door and knocking with his uninjured forefinger, Remus called, "Need any help?"

Arthur smiled gratefully, swamped by masses of evening suits and polished shoes. "Oh, Remus, you lifesaver! I don't know how I'm going to get through this lot," One of the huge leather travelling chests propped up by the open door fell over as if rehearsed. Arthur puffed exasperatedly. "Almost broke my back lugging that lot up the stairs. I've done all the Prewetts. Could you do the ladies for me?"

"Alright," replied Remus, already jogging off towards the direction of the Lady Evans' room eagerly.

"Cheers, Remus!" Arthur's barely audible voice carried over the racket of the thumps of the many travelling cases and the closing door.

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as Remus swiftly began smoothing out dresses and draping them up on silk-covered hangers.

"Remus!"

Startled, he dropped a garment of cream muslin, only to have a flash of red bowl him over. He realised he had a very excitable Lily Evans in his arms. He returned her tight hug for a few moments until a small voice in his ear said "Remus? I can't breathe."

Remus let go quickly. "Oh God, sorry!" he leant down to pick up the crumpled dress, smoothing it out worriedly. Lily watched him, one hand placed on her stomach and the other on her tightly cinched hip.

"Lily…" Remus stared at her waist. "What on earth are you wearing?"

Lily appeared to be catching her breath, and at Remus' words she put both hands behind her back.

"Petunia tightened the strings for me because Arabella apparently 'does not do it tight enough', and Remus, please help me with these blasted knots!"

Lily fiddled impatiently with the ribbons on the back of her dress and gave up, choosing to throw her hands in the air shrilly instead. Remus untangled and untied as quickly as he could with deft fingers until Lily's dress was pulled off her arms and she was taking huge lungfuls of air. Or rather, stomachfuls.

She sighed contentedly; pushing her stomach out farther than necessarily needed to with each breath, and then reluctantly slipped her hands back into her sleeves with a remorseful look at Remus.

She stood facing the small, full-length mirror as Remus laced her back up again, looser this time.

"How are you, Remus?" It wasn't really a question. It was a soft, gentle inquiry that held all knowledge of how things actually were for her friend.

Remus locked eyes with her in the mirror over her shoulder, his actions of pulling the ribbons slowing. She was gazing at him very knowingly through vivid green eyes.

"They're… fine." No better, but at least no worse.

Usually Lily would say no more and be entirely forgiving of the reason for Remus' state of affairs. It was just this house. This old house. It was just a marriage. To the wrong person. But for the first time, Lily did something different. She looked sad.

Remus couldn't bear pity. Not now, it's too late.

However, as he left the room as quietly as he could, upon closing the door came a soft "I'm sorry, Remus," from within.

TBC…


End file.
